Dead Memories
by AceOfSpades22
Summary: Everything came crashing down around Antonio after the fall of his Armada. How is it that he can blame the storm when the rest of the world blames the British Empire? As he is being sailed away i an unfamiliar ship, he can't help but remember...


**New SpUK! Weeew! I found the need to write a new one as soon as I heard about the USUK and Spamano that plauged the SpUK page... *Shakes head* This page must be purged! XD (Just kidding guys. I don't care who ships what )**

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There came a time in Antonio's life when everything went to hell. A single storm changed the course of his life for good. He had commanded one of the strongest fleets in the world, rivaled only by the British Empire. One storm. One miserable storm, took all of that away from him. He blamed the storm at least. Everyone else that had survived blamed the English Captain, Arthur Kirkland.

As the Spaniard sat, chained and shackled in an unfriendly cell, he found himself trying to draw a perfect image of the English pirate in his mind, not having to hide his shame of loving the man from anyone, seeing as no one else was there. He started with conjuring up an image of his boots, simple enough. The black leather shoes were built for sturdy usefulness, no doubt molded to the captain's feet. His pants would be tucked neatly inside the boots, bunching up mid calf in wrinkles, giving way to the fact the garment covering his legs was a little too long, possibly belonging to a taller older brother at one point or another.

The idea of Arthur being given hand-me-downs from an older sibling brought a small, if not heart broken smile to the man's scarred, sun kissed face. Suddenly the beginnings of the perfect image of the English captain was shattered in favor of Arthur running around what Antonio pictured what his back yard would have looked like growing up. Arthur was little, adorable and laughing as he ran away from a younger version of the red headed Scotsman, and Arthur's abrasive older brother, Iain. Giggling, Arthur ran from Iain, dressed up in his brother's blue, white crossed jacket.

A weak smile held fast on Antonio's face as he imagined Arthur as a little boy, but when a salty drop of moisture cascaded down his cheek, he opened his watering verdant eyes and brushed away the shameful tear with a soft, humorless breath of laughter at himself. Here he was in the bowels of an enemy ship where it was important to look strong, and a mere thought was trying to bring him to tears. A soft shudder ran through him, a shudder of fear, sorrow, cold, and more strongly, a shudder of longing. He longed to feel the cool expanse of alabaster skin, dimly glowing with the light of the moon as two bodies lay in the sand late at night in some long forgotten cove. He longed to feel slender, strong fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his skull while the rum scented breath of his English pirate kissed across his cheeks before exchanging in a fiery, passionate kiss as desperate, satisfying touches served to fulfil their deepest desires. He longed to be filled to bursting with such a secret, dark, confusing forbidden love. Instead of these things, he was locked away, wrists and ankles chained, left to do nothing but imagine and remember.

From the too big pants would come a belt, no doubt brown leather, clasped below his navel, just barely covering hips whose bone was sculpted perfectly so to fit Antonio's calloused hands when he gripped the man to pull him close or hold him still in an exchange of passion. He loved to kiss the sensitive skin stretched tight inside the hollow space the hip bones created. Every time he did a shiver would pass down the entire length of Arthur's body, giving way to teasing banter to pass between the two sea dogs, banter that was soon preempted by long, slow kisses. Never had hips ever been recorded as beautiful, at least not that Antonio could recall, but if he were to sit and write about his Englishman, his Arthur, his hips would be described with such beautiful words and still their perfection wouldn't be captured quite right.

Antonio's emerald eyes closed once more, giving rise to rampant images in his head of a navy jacket flapping in the wind as Arthur swung onto the deck of his ship with his sword drawn and flashing in the glittering rays of the sun. A brilliant smirk would be on his face as he landed with surprising agility on the scarred planks of Antonio vessel, ready to battle with him, both with words and blade. His flaxen hair would be drawn back into a low ponytail with jade and blue-green beads woven into it, similar to Antonio's though the Spaniard never quite captured the look of eloquence Arthur held with his rough and rugged features. The navy and white silks would swirl and dance with his crimson and white ones as they took part in a deadly dance of sparring. The bite of Arthur's blade against his flesh was worth the look of true concern and revulsion that would blaze without restraint across his emerald eyes each time a crimson splash was brought forth by his blood craving silver tongue, seeking to drink in everyone's misery. The emotion would die away, taking up one of mischief as Antonio would shrug off the inflicted wound and respond with a blow, never intending to harm his opponent whose concern would always reinforce the roots of love more chaotic than the very sea they each adored.

Antonio blinked in surprise as telltale signs of overbearing emotion made it's self known in the form of multiple, glass clear tears as they streaked down his tanned cheeks, cutting through the thin layer of grim that had taken to the flesh in the days spent imprisoned. The crystal beads of sorrow cascaded in spinning, ever changing droplets of moisture, suspended in the air for the span of a painful, broken heartbeat until it met it's demise on the trembling hands of the Spaniard. Yearning verdant eyes gazed at the splattered, salty drops on his hand, instantly thinking of Arthur's beautiful eyes, similar in a state of grief like his own.

It had been years in the past. Years in the past he had seen Arthur at his lowest point. On the shore of their safe haven in the light of a half moon, sea breeze cool where the water was warm around their bare skin. Kisses were shared, tasting of a different desperation than ever before. A desperation so strong it broke into the most sensitive parts of Antonio's heart and took root there in the form of a sickening terror. For once their movements were more involved in making sure to remember every little detail about each other. The exact texture of silken, water dampened hair, the precise way their saliva tasted as it mixed together in mouths, on lips and against tongues. It was about remembering the perfection of how they fit perfectly against each other, and the way their heart beats beat together at the same rate, one being, one muscle. It was all about memorizing the tones of each others' voices and the patterns of emotions that burned raw in the opposite's eyes. So consumed they were, in those few hours, with just caressing and holding and being with each other, words weren't spoken, their normal acts of sex weren't completed and their nap full of cuddling and loving exchanges in both of their languages were forgotten.

As high tide came, the time in which they'd be forced to depart with each other or risk being stranded on their protected, perfect paradise for hours they couldn't afford to waste, the tears Antonio remembered more clearly than anything, began to fall down a perfect, porcelain face. His dusty rose lips, slightly chapped from the cool, salty sea breeze, fought not to tremble s beautiful crystalline drops of ocean ran in rivulets down Arthur's face. Such desperation crept into his almost painfully tight hug and nearly too forceful kiss, that Antonio had to break their lasting silence to request the knowledge in knowing what was wrong, but in way of answer Arthur slipped from his hold, a mask of pain and anger replacing his crushing grief evident only moments before.. And he turned and walked away from Antonio without a word, shoulders set. Had it not been for the cry of anguish that echoed off the rocks encasing their cove of love, Antonio would have though their entire past exchanges as forced and insincere, but there was no mistaking the pain of heart sick brokenness in Arthur's voice as he sailed away from the cover for the last time, leaving Antonio to meet there alone months and years after.

At this memory Antonio felt the hole in his heart rip wide open as his raw grief spilled inside of him, coating his insides black with his despair. Years he waited for Arthur to show up, and never once did he. They didn't even see each other in battle save one other time months after that bitter farewell. The British Empire had taken to battling furiously against the Spanish Armada and, apparently, with that broken peace, as uneasy as it had been, it tore apart the darkly romantic relationship of old that Antonio still dreamed about, even as he was being sailed to his death. He had never once forgotten all the details he had memorized in their desperate attempts to engrain the other perfectly in their minds, even if Arthur seemed to have. Never once forgotten the lilting qualities of his voice, or the anger that flashed in his eyes when one of his crew would try to harm _his _Spaniard. Antonio had never forgotten the scent of his skin, most condensed with a caressing breath across his cheeks or clinging to the soft, kissable skin of his neck. He had never forgotten the exact stitch work of the man's silken garments, nor the content sounds he'd make when the lay curled against each other in the sand, riding down from two halves of the same high. He had _never _forgotten, when that was all Arthur seemed to have, for despite all of his searching, his longing, his aching, the Englishman refused to acknowledge his presence in the slightest of ways. Not until a single storm destroyed what remained of his world.

That single storm was what brought him here, chained like he was, being taken to his death. The storm that the British had used to their advantage to destroy his Armada, was the reason he was reminiscing so hard. He hadn't seen Arthur's ship in years, and though it had been leading the rest of his fleet, Antonio couldn't help hoping to see Arthur again. He had caught glimpses of the captain at the helm of his ship, sword drawn and reaching towards the sky and a smirk on his face. He stayed far away from Antonio's ship though and it was only glimpses Antonio got to see, and yet those glimpses were enough to send a fiery grief and passion searing his heart.

In the depths of his heart he prayed he was on Arthur's ship, but he knew he was falsely hoping, having been imprisoned on his lover's ship before, and his hopes were further squandered when a familiar form moved to his cell, not the Englishman he so desperately needed, but his brother. Iain Kirkland moved to Antonio's cell with an arrogant smirk on his face. His flame colored hair sat atop his head haphazardly and his emerald eyes flashed with both triumph and irritation. He had spent so long hunting down the Spaniard to do precisely what he planed to, kill him for breaking his brother's heart. In Iain's mind, Arthur's years of depression and misery that he hid from the eyes of everyone save his older brother, war because of Antonio. He didn't realize Arthur's misery was self inflicted, nor that Antonio would never do anything to hurt Arthur intentionally. All the Scotsman knew for certain was Arthur and Antonio had been connected in ways they shouldn't have, and that now his brother was hurting because of it. In Iain's mind, Antonio deserved to die.

"Ah've been waiting a long time to kill yeh, _Captain _Antonio. Ah've been waiting to kill yeh for hurting mah little brother. No one hurts him like yeh did and gets away with it." Iain snapped, unlocking the cell door and walking into Antonio's cell, looming over him with fury and contempt in his eyes. With rough hands he unchained Antonio's ankles and hauled him to his feet.

"¡Yo nunca le hicé daño, pendejo!" Antonio roared, anger gripping every fiber of his being at the very thought that he was responsible for hurting Arthur. He was weakened from days without food though and when he moved to strike at Iain with his bound hands, he stumbled and fell to the ground while Iain sneered, allowing Antonio to struggle to his feet under his own power again. "¡Él te matará!" He snarled, not deterred in the slightest from the visible weakness in his challenge. It didn't matter though. Iain simply gagged Antonio, not wanting to have to hear his snarled Spanish as he lead him up onto the deck of his ship, a laugh rumbling through him as Antonio flinched.

The cove. His and Arthur's cove. That is where Iain had taken him to kill him. A sickening feeling settled deep in Antonio's stomach as he came to realize his blood would stain the very sand that was saturated with loving memories. The safe place the captains met on would become the place of his demise. His heart screamed in his chest at the cruel irony in the entire situation. He sat on deck as Iain's crew lifted a gallows into their arms, no doubt commandeered with the specific purpose of killing the Spaniard. The noose was already strung up, hanging tauntingly and swinging freely in the sea breeze. The roar of waves crashing onto the shore filled Antonio's ears as he stared, transfixed with the sight of what would cause his death. Being hanged wasn't the worst thing that could happen.

"It's beautiful isn't it? Ah should just gut yeh instead of letting yeh flop around like a fish until yeh die of asphyxiation... But ah'd rather yeh have time to realize yer dying." Iain said, sitting beside Antonio with a grin. "Yeh know... Ah wouldn't be havin' to kill yeh if yeh hadn't hurt mah brother. Ah could've just left yeh well enough alone seein' yeh alive on the drift wood, but yeh hurt Arthur. Ah've never seen him so upset before. He doesn't love anyone like he loves yeh... It's sickening. Ah hate yeh for it." He said, though instead of the anger Antonio was expecting, the Scotsman sounded... Resigned. Tired. Some unknown emotion flashed in Iain's green eyes as he looked over at Antonio curiously, as if he was trying to see what Arthur saw in the Spaniard, but he quickly looked away when two of his crew came up to them, announcing the gallows was set up.

"Yeh know... Well... Never mind." Iain said, pulling Antonio to is feet and leading him off of the ship to the sandy shore, waves crashing against the beach in relentless waves that, in Antonio's mind, were reaching for him to try and claim him, try to take him far away from what had once been a place of sanctuary. The restraining hands that kept him turned to the gallows that waited for him prevented the yearning blanket of water that wanted to envelop him. His feet, long since stripped of his boots, thumped softly on the wooden stairs as he was lead to the place of his death, and he swallowed as the rough rope met his neck. There was no point in fighting at this point. He shuddered and closed his eyes as a hand of one of the crew mates came to rest on the lever that would pull the floor from his feet and send him to his death, resigned to his death. It didn't matter... His crew and friends were dead, his ship was laying at the bottom of the ocean, and he'd never see Arthur again anyway.

It was almost an out of body experience when the floor disappeared under his feet and he fell, the noose tightening around his neck and cutting off his air supply. He tried to cough to clear his throat, tried to suck in air through both his nose and his mouth, but it didn't help. Memories crashed against his head skull, echoing the roar of the sea as he slowly choked to death, but it still didn't matter. Blackness swam at his eyes, threatening to pull him under, cotton filled his ears, making it hard to hear.

It was so hard to hear in fact that he wasn't entirely sure if the yelp of surprise and the gurgle of a sword sticking into the throat of a man was just a memory or if it was happening in the real world. He heard an angry shout and felt an arm wrap around his waist just before the rope around his throat was cut, the blade nicking his skin. An angry snarl sounded from whoever was holding him, and a response snarl sounded from Iain, but... His words didn't make sense. "Ah swear to God if any of yeh damn bastards shoot the masked one, yah'll personally kill yeh all!" He snarled, barreling into his own men to keep them from trying to attack whoever was trying to save his Spanish prisoner.

Antonio sucked in deep, shuddering breaths trying to clear his hearing and his eyes. Above him a man dressed in black and blue, a mask over his face, held him bridal style as he ran from the scene, disappearing deep into one of the caves inside the rocks of the cove. He didn't stop running until they were hidden from sight, and even then he didn't set the Spaniard down until their heart beats slowed back down. Even if Antonio hadn't caught a glimpse of a blonde ponytail at the nape of the man's neck, he would have known exactly who it was from the feel of his chest and arms, the rhythm of his heart, the pitch of his shout. When he felt sand at his back as the masked man set him down, he scrambled to his feet, even as shaky as he was, and half stumbled half stepped to him, wrapping his arms tightly around the man. "Tú... me salvaste" He whispered, holding onto the man as tight as he could manage, heart thundering in his chest when very slowly arms wrapped around him and pulled him close.

"Aye... You... You are my life. I would never just let you die. Not under me brother's hands, nor any other bloody fool who's stupid enough to try." Came a heartbreakingly familiar voice at Antonio's ear. Slowly the masked man pressed his face into Antonio's neck, kissing the rope burned skin and drinking in the familiar scent that clung to him. "I missed you." He whispered, the words sending Antonio's heart sputtering in excitement.

"Te eché de menos desmasiado." Antonio whispered, leaning heavily into the masked man as his legs struggled to keep him up. As lips met his neck he shivered and twisted until he could find the soft lips with his own, kissing them sweetly with a different kind of extreme desperation. Slowly he tugged at the mask covering the man's eyes, fumbling with the ties with his shuddering fingers. Quiero ver tus ojos... Por favor." He said, giving up and wrapping his shuddering hands around the man's neck.

"We need to get food into you, love. You are looking ill..." The man said, sounding terribly worried, though he complied to Antonio's wishes and untied the mask, removing it from his face to reveal eyes of a brilliant emerald, glittering in love, concern and joy. He held a small smile on his alabaster face, as Antonio broken into a wobbling grin, bringing a quivering hand to the blonde's face, touching the soft skin. "Anthony, love... I love you." He said, momentarily forgetting his concern at the adoring expression on Antonio's face.

"Alimentos pueden esperar, mi Arturo. "Yo he esperado años para ti"..." Antonio said stubbornly, kissing Arthur again, wanting to make up for the years of being alone, the years of missing touches and kisses. "Te quiero."

"Anthony..." Arthur sighed, shaking his head with a smile despite is worry. "Alright... But I promise you I'm not going anywhere this time... You're stuck with me forever now. I can't leave you again." He whispered, giving in to Antonio without ever really arguing in the first place. "I love you." He said again as hands began to roam, kissing sped and deepened, and clothing began to fall.

As Iain sailed away from the cove he rolled his eyes, a smirk on his face. "Ah don't know why yeh needed something so dramatic to go back to yer lover... Stupid Iggy."

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**What did you guys think of the ending? O.o Anyway there is the new SpUK :) **


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